Red Duty, Black Honor: Director's Cut
by ObsidianJade
Summary: A series of missing, deleted, or offscreen moments from my 'fan-novel' RDBH. Third chapter, Default Appearance of Genius. He didn't look like much, but maybe all geniuses looked like cranky, underfed kids. Renji and Hitsugaya, Academy friendship.
1. What Reapers Sew

A/N: Hey guys! This is something that's been knocking around my head for quite a while; there are some spots in RDBH where I've seriously wanted to expand on a comment a character has made or a scene that happened 'offscreen,' but wasn't really able to fit it into the flow of the story. (Yes, the Noodle Incident is one of them.) So, this story - Symphony's kiriban request - is the first in a series of one-shots, set to expand, enhance, and explain portions of RDBH that have never made it to your screen. Call it the Director's Cut. (Although it will be retitled when I can think of something more intelligent to call it.) Enjoy!

This story: Expansion on Ichigo's comment in Ch. 12, "Kira, make a note to have me get Ishida down here and teach these idiots how to sew?", although this sequence actually takes place in or around Chapter 21.

* * *

RDBH 250 Kiriban

Winner: SymphonyofSilence

Request: Humor, Ichigo and Ishida, teaching Shinigami how to sew.

Overall Thoughts: A lot of fun. Glad to be getting back to some more comedic writing, and hoping I managed to pull Ishida off okay since I haven't really written him before.

* * *

**WHAT REAPERS SEW **

"You're joking, right?"

Ichigo, who still looked stiff and uncomfortable in the heavy Captain's haori, scowled at Ishida from across the confines of the Quincy's living room. "Why the hell would I joke about something like this?" he snapped back, ignoring his friend's incredulity. "My squad needs to learn how to sew."

Uryuu shook his head slightly, dislodging the minor tic that accompanied Ichigo saying the words 'my Squad,' and very carefully set his cup down before Ichigo said something else to make him spill his tea. "And you want me, a Quincy, sworn enemy of all Shinigami, to put my life on hold for three days, travel to the Seireitei, and teach a pack of inept Soul Reapers how to darn their socks? No."

"I think they already know how to swear at their socks, Ishida."

Ishida froze momentarily, sincerely hoping he'd misheard that glaringly idiotic statement, before thunking the heel of his hand against his forehead. It was _Kurosaki_. Of course he hadn't misheard it.

"What?" Ichigo demanded, looking bewildered, and Ishida just shook his head.

"Darning socks, Kurosaki, is the proper term for reweaving the fabric to repair a hole. It has nothing to do with addressing profane comments at an article of clothing."

"Well, excuse me, Mister High-and-friggin'-Mighty Quincy seamstress," Ichigo snapped, and Ishida glowered back at him, pushing his glasses up his nose to mask his offended dignity.

"Just because you are a testosterone-driven oaf does not mean you are entitled to take potshots at my gender, Kurosaki. Sewing is a highly useful talent to have, whether male or female."

"Yeah, Kon finds you very useful every time he busts a seam."

Oh, fine. If they were going to play it like that... "So do all of the girls in our class, Kurosaki, whenever they tear their uniforms."

Ichigo opened his mouth to respond, thought for a moment, and then shut it again without commenting. Ishida bit back his smirk, wondering if a few days spent in the Seireitei wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. Much as he hated to admit it, he'd missed having Ichigo around - nobody else gave him such prime a prime target for his wit.

* * *

Two days later, Ishida stood in the mess hall of the Third Division and inventoried the sewing supplies he'd been presented. Three hundred and fifty medium-sized needles (because at least half of them would be lost by the ham-fisted Shinigami he was expected to be teaching), three hundred spools of thread (two hundred black, one hundred white, and again he anticipated half of it being reduced to unsalvageable knots), one hundred and fifty thimbles (in the largest sizes he could find), one hundred and fifty pincushions (although he imagined the Shinigami would be serving that purpose before the lessons were over) three dozen pairs of sewing scissors... and one Yamada Hanatarou.

Uryuu pushed his glasses up his nose a little and blinked.

Hanatarou blinked back, looking a little like a particularly pathetic abandoned doll in the midst of the boxes of sewing supplies.

"Yamada-san," Ishida said finally, "did you need something?"

"Oh, no, Ishida-san!" the young medic answered, bowing. "I'm assigned to you for the duration of your visit to the Seireitei."

"...as my escort?"

"As your assistant, Ishida-san."

There was a long stretch of silence before Uryuu managed to repeat, in a voice strangled by disbelief, "My _assistant_? Assist with what, exactly?"

"With teaching the Third Division how to sew, of course," came the bewildered answer, and Ishida pushed his glasses up again and _stared_.

"Yamada-san... do you actually know how to sew?"

"Of course!" came the mildly indignant reply. "I'm a member of the Fourth Division, after all. We're trained in all manner of medical treatments, including emergency non-reiatsu-based healing methods practiced by humans, such as suturing."

Ishida bit the inside of his cheek and resisted the urge to slap his hand to his forehead, again. Only in the Seireitei would a battlefield medic be considered a sewing supply.

* * *

Uryuu clenched his teeth and fought down the impulse to beat his head against the nearest hard surface. Under ordinary circumstances, he might have picked a wall, but with fifty Shinigami heads in immediate proximity, there were plenty of harder options.

The only ranking member of the Division who might have actually been a help in this situation - Kira, the Lieutenant - was off somewhere training, and the maturity level of the other officers seemed to dip considerably as a result.

The most blatant example was a quartet of men halfway down one of the long tables in front of him, clustered together and snickering at intervals, loudly enough to disrupt the entire assembly, as their apparent ringleader repaired the center seam of his hakama with decidedly suggestive movements of the needle. Hanatarou, who was supposed to be helping to supervise the class, caught Ishida's eye from the other side of the room and gave him a helpless shrug.

Ishida scowled, caught his tongue between his teeth to restrain the comment he would dearly love to make, and returned his attention to the whiteboard he'd brought along, drawing out the directions for an invisible stitch.

A low laugh from nearby very nearly made him drop his marker. "Go ahead and say it, Ishida," Ichigo murmured, his voice not carrying beyond the Quincy. "I know you've got some comment for Ayo, and he deserves it."

"You're siding with _me_, Kurosaki?" Ishida asked in surprise, glancing over at his long-time rival. Ichigo was sprawled at his private table, managing what was actually a serviceable locking stitch on a foot-long split in the leg of one of his hakama. The fact that that particular stitching style was generally used for skin sutures wasn't really an issue; knowing Ichigo, the extra reinforcement of the rip wouldn't hurt. "These are your men. Shouldn't you be defending their right to behave like juvenile imbeciles?"

Ichigo snorted in response, carefully tying off the seam and tugging on the fabric to check it. "No, I told them this was a mandatory class. That means they're supposed to pay attention."

"If you say so," Ishida replied, then turned to face his 'class,' fixing a frigid glare on the misbehaving quartet. "If that needle is the best available analogy, Ayo-san," he snapped, pitching his voice to carry clearly throughout the room, "I'm not certain you should really be publicizing the fact."

The man's face went white, then red, but a particularly sharp glance from Ichigo - when had he started commanding that kind of respect? - quelled him as the rest of the room erupted into snickers.

"You know," Ichigo said, low-voiced under the cover of the laughter, "you've got all the charm of a frostbitten cactus."

"And your men have all the patience and maturity of a flock of caffeine-laden squirrels," Ishida countered, turning his attention back to the whiteboard and trying not to smile.

Tomorrow, he would teach the more advanced group how to darn their socks.

END


	2. From Flowers To Frost

RDBH 350 Kiriban

Winner: Sakana-san

Request: Before Byakuya and Renji make their relationship public, Yachiru demands to know why Byakuya won't return her affections, and he struggles with explaining his situation. After eventually accepting what can't be changed (and after an inevitable Pink Demon Temper Tantrum as well), Yachiru focuses her attention elsewhere - namely on a certain short, white-haired captain, all while under the watchful eye of her doting "Ken-chan."

Overall Thoughts: Although my initial reaction was something along the lines of 'Dearest gods, why Yachiru?', I must admit I had fun with this. It does help explain quite a few elements of the story that I hadn't necessarily given a lot of consideration at the time (the hair bow, among other things), and of course torturing Byakuya is always entertaining, (laughs)

* * *

**FROM FLOWERS TO FROST**

Timeline Note: This begins closely after the Kuchiki Clan meeting in ch. 12, in which Rukia announces her intention to marry Ichigo. Here, Rukia is still in Byakuya's quarters after the meeting as they discuss Renji's feelings. The story will run parallel to RDBH and end up at the point of ch. 15, with Yachiru-the-fish-thief.

* * *

Rukia giggled at him. _Giggled_! "Nii-sama, you don't know? Boys are so blind sometimes... Renji's completely devoted to you. I'd call it infatuation, but I think it's really more than that. He's been so entranced by you for so long, I almost think he's in love."

In... love? He'd known for some time now that there was something beyond mere admiration in Renji's pursuit of him, something more than a desire to reclaim the family that the Kuchiki had stolen from him. It was that knowledge, in part, that had led him to bare his skin and show his Zanpakutou mark to the younger man, an action that was both a cruel taunt and a gracious reward But to think that Renji's feelings ran any deeper than simple, carnal lust...

Byakuya shook his head slightly, trying to make the world lie level again. Renji lusting after him would not have been a surprise - anyone who'd spent time in the Eleventh tended to confuse battle-lust and bedding-lust, but... _loving_ him? Was it possible, that, after all these years, there was finally someone else whom he could entrust with his heart?

Sighing, he finished his tea, set aside his cup and his thoughts, and got up to dress.

* * *

"Byakushi~i!"

The electric, sugar-sweet scent of Yachiru's reiatsu had touched his senses even as Rukia was leaving the property, so he was not remotely surprised when the pink-haired hellion's energy splatted up against the door of his rooms. Rather to his irritation, however, the door almost immediately began to slide open, prompting Byakuya to very quickly pull his shitagi into place. The sight of his Zanpakutou mark was not something he gave lightly; Renji's witness of it rounded the number of people who had been allowed the privilege to five.

"Please wait outside, Kusajishi-fukutaichou, I am not dressed."

"Ooh!" The door slid open another inch, and Byakuya, scowling, used a fast combination of a very low-powered Hadou one, Thrust, quickly followed by a sealing kidou, to push Yachiru back onto the veranda and fasten the door.

"Kusajishi-fukutaichou, you _will_ respect my privacy while you are on the grounds of my home."

An indignant huff answered him. "You're no fun, Byakushi."

Shrugging into his kosode and hakama at record speed, Byakuya fastened the ties of his basic uniform before carefully allowing the seal on the door to lapse. He was gathering his tekkou from the edge of his dressing table when the door opened just a crack, permitting the narrowest sliver of one dark-pink eye to appear.

"You may enter," Byakuya said coolly, slipping the guards over the back of his hands and tugging them into place. Yachiru giggled and bounded in, eyes everywhere; regardless of how many times she had entered the room before, actually being _permitted_ inside of it made the place seem quite different. She spent a minute or two merrily zipping about the room, inspecting the lacquered wardrobe, the small shrine, and eventually peeping into the cabinet where his futon was stored.

"You've still got a big bed, Byakushi. Are you gonna marry somebody again to share it with?"

The question, coming so soon on the heels of the Council's demands, sparked a bitter surge in his reiatsu before he brutally reined in his power. It was vanishingly unlikely that the Council would ever use Yachiru to press the matter on him, if for no other reason than they would never believe the 'pet' of the Eleventh Division capable of following orders.

Then again, Byakuya reflected dryly, gathering his haori from its rack and watching Yachiru sniffing around his nightstand - literally, sniffing! - the Council might be right on that.

"I have no intention of marrying again, no," Byakuya replied calmly, shrugging the haori on in a fluidly efficient movement and reaching for his scarf.

"Why?" came the sharp demand, pink eyes narrowing sharply.

"I cannot bring myself to love another woman after having lost Hisana," he answered steadily, arranging the scarf with practiced movements before carefully stepping out of his room and beckoning the girl to follow. She did so, though with clear reluctance.

Frowning a little, Byakuya caught the eye of the nearest servant and communicated through wordless gestures that he wished food brought from the kitchen. The servant blinked in confusion for a brief moment before spotting the familiar head of pink, grimacing, and hurrying off to complete the task with due haste. A well-distracted Yachiru was difficult enough to control; a bored and hungry one was impossible.

"I will walk you back to the Eleventh, Kusajishi-fukutaichou," Byakuya offered calmly as the servant came rushing back, a basket of dumplings held in one hand.

"Food?" Yachiru demanded simply, eyeing the basket, and Byakuya swept them both out of the house while she was distracted.

* * *

"I got it," Yachiru announced a few minutes later, polishing off the last of her third dumpling - that was as many as Renji ate at a sitting, and she didn't look remotely abashed in reaching for a fourth. "You're like Feather-brow and Pachinko-head."

Like... Ayasegawa and Madarame? "I do not understand what you mean," Byakuya answered, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"Feathers and Pachinko like each other!" Yachiru exclaimed, as though it was obvious. Then again, Byakuya realized, it probably was - the pair's relationship was not exactly a secret.

"And they kiss and touch and stuff and then they go in their rooms and make all kinds of noises that Ken-chan says I shouldn't hear 'till my ears are older, like 'uh-uh-uh' and 'aah-aah-aah' and a lot of screaming. I thought they were fighting at first, but Ken-chan said they weren't, and if they were he would want to fight too and he would have gone in whether or not the door was locked, so -"

Byakuya stuffed a fifth dumpling in her mouth.

* * *

Zaraki met them at the gates of the Eleventh, arms folded across his chest and one of his more menacing scowls in place. "Yachiru!" he barked as soon as they came within sight, and the girl giggled merrily as she sped to her 'father,' an endless babble of 'Ken-chanken-chanken-chan!' spilling from her lips. Scrabbling up his body like the hyperactive pink squirrel she probably was, she settled herself on his shoulder for the briefest of moments before recalling the uneaten dumplings in Byakuya's basket.

Yachiru was not the type to spare a moment for thought when food was involved; instead, she simply launched herself from Kenpachi's shoulder to Byakuya's - or tried to, anyway. However, Byakuya's finely-honed reflexes jerked him out of her path without conscious thought, leaving the girl to sail across the graveled path and land, crouching and annoyed, in the grass on the far side.

Zaraki raised an eyebrow at Byakuya, who gave him the dumplings and a long-suffering glance in return. Zaraki snorted.

"Oy, Yachiru! Get back here, yer boyfriend left the treats for ya."

"Food!" Giggling, Yachiru repeated the process of scaling the mountainous Captain, finally peering down at Byakuya from her much higher vantage point. "Hey, Byakushi?"

"What is it, Kusajishi-fukutaichou?"

"Do you like any girls?"

"I am not romantically attracted to any females, no."

"Not even Flash-Boobies?"

It took Byakuya a moment to process that particular moniker - she was referring to Yoroichi, of course, although how she'd gone from 'Kitty-Lady' to 'Flash-Boobies' was entirely beyond his comprehension. Not that he was certain he wished to comprehend it in the first place...

"No," he answered, when he realized that Zaraki and Yachiru were both staring at him expectantly. "Not even Yoroichi."

The first beginnings of a petulant frown began to crease the tiny, crumb-dusted mouth. "You don't like any girls at all, Byakushi?"

"I should not need to reiterate, _again_, that I am not romantically interested in any females, Kusajishi-fukutaichou." Bowing stiffly to the both of them, he added, "I must return to my Division." Turning, he took one step, two - and then Flashed to the side as a _Shakkahou_ the size of his head hurtled up behind him, crashing into the ground a few feet short of where he'd been standing.

Spinning back to face the others, he found Kenpachi snickering to himself, arms folded across his chest, as Yachiru readied another fireball on her palm.

"You're _mean_, Byakushi!" the girl shouted, lobbing the kidou at him with extraordinarily bad aim; she was either too mad to focus or not trying very hard to hit him. "I wanted to marry you, and you decided to go and be like stupid Pachinko-head!"

Marry? _Him_? Byakuya felt his head spin, and stared at her in utter disbelief until a third fireball impacted the ground a few feet to his side. "Kusajishi-fukutaichou, you will cease that action immediately!"

"Won't!" The girl snapped back, and chucked another rather wobbly Shakkahou in his general direction. "Not until you say you'll marry me!"

"I most certainly will not," Byakuya replied sharply, and used a quickly-erected shield to simply block the next attack. How Zaraki had accomplished spoiling this child to the extent he had was incomprehensible, and if Byakuya had even hesitated to refuse, there was little doubt that Yachiru would have browbeaten Kenpachi into supporting her delusions. He could only imagine what the Clan Elders would say, should he turn up with his new 'wife' in tow at the next meeting...

"Your behavior is exceedingly childish, Kusajishi-fukutaichou, and you should be confining your interests to something more age-appropriate than myself."

Yachiru blinked.

Byakuya clenched his teeth, spun on his heel, and made the leap to Shunpo to get back to his Division while she was distracted by actually thinking.

* * *

"There are only so many ways in which I can apologize, Hitsugaya-Taichou."

"I don't particularly care about your apologies, Kuchiki," the ice-wielding Captain gritted back, his hands clenching on the edge of Byakuya's desk. "I care about getting Kusajishi off my damned back about this. What idiot put the notion of marriage into her head in the first place, and how much trouble will I be in if I kill them?"

"Undoubtedly it was a member of the Shinigami Women's Association," Byakuya replied calmly, taking another careful sip of his tea. Unsurprisingly, it had gone cold with the furious pulses of Hitsugaya's reiatsu. "Given that their numbers include all of the high-standing female officers in the Gotei - my sister and your subordinate among them - I would recommend discarding your plans of homicide."

Hitsugaya snarled. "When you told her to 'confine her interest to something more age-appropriate,' what exactly were you thinking she would focus on? Ponies?"

Given that one of his thoughts had actually been of the absurdly long-haired, multicolored rubber approximations of horses that Rukia had brought home from a recent foray to the Living World, Byakuya refrained from commenting and withdrew another sheaf of papers from his inbox.

"Of course," Hitsugaya sighed, shaking his head. "Kuchiki, how did you handle her? I tried ignoring her and she glued all of my completed paperwork together. I tried threatening her, and she thought I wanted to play. If I acknowledge her, it just makes the problem worse!"

"Have you considered going to Zaraki?"

"Zaraki already knows what's going on, I can feel him laughing from here."

Byakuya paused, curious, and reached out ever-so-slightly with his own senses. It was true - Zaraki's tornadic energy had a distinct edge of humor to it.

Sighing, he gathered up his own completed paperwork - thankfully free of glue - and shuffled it into his outbox. "I am afraid there is very little advice I can offer you, Hitsugaya. I never encouraged nor understood Kusajishi's fixation on my person, and therefore am quite unaware of her motivations."

"Her motivations seem to be finding a husband," Hitsugaya answered dryly. "And she has apparently fixated on me, thanks to your comment."

"I have already offered to apologize, there is nothing more I am able to grant you in this situation. My only suggestion would be to tell her that you are already involved romantically and suggest she seek someone else."

"Actually, that brings up something I was wondering about," Hitsugaya murmured, his deep-teal eyes taking on a faintly evil gleam. "When I asked her why she was fixating on me and not you, she said it was because you were getting a boyfriend."

Closing his eyes briefly, Byakuya breathed a mental prayer to any gods who might have been listening that Kusajishi would be struck with a severe and permanent case of laryngitis. "She is mistaken."

"I figured as much. You probably haven't had a sexual thought in your head in forty years," the ice-wielding answered casually - a little too casually, Byakuya thought.

"I did not think you were susceptible to gossip-mongering, Hitsugaya."

"It's not gossip if I don't intend to repeat it," came the arch response, and Byakuya stifled a grimace. Clearly the young Captain was being infected by Matsumoto-logic. Who would have guessed that it was contagious?

"So there isn't anyone?"

Byakuya forced himself to keep his eyes on his paperwork, least they betray him by sliding towards Renji's empty desk. Hitsugaya, however, was far too observant.

"It's Abarai, then," came the musing murmur, and Byakuya tensed sharply, every muscle in his body cording with alarm. Much to his surprise, however, the younger Captain simply smiled. "Good. He'd do well for you, Kuchiki. He's a good man with a strong heart."

Rising from his seat, Hitsugaya bowed briefly. "I have to get back. Hopefully Matsumoto will have managed to scare off Kusajishi by now and I can manage to accomplish something today. Good day, Kuchiki."

"Good day, Hitsugaya," Byakuya answered absently, staring at his desk while his thoughts reordered themselves.

After a long moment, he finally stood up and exited the office, locking the door behind him. He was far too distracted to have any hope of completing his duties today. Best now that he returned to the manor and told his staff to prepare for dinner guests.

* * *

He was not remotely surprised when, several hours later, one of his guards came to the dining chamber where he was meditating to inform him that Kusajishi-fukutaichou was once again raiding his koi pond.

"I had expected as much," he answered, shifting from a lotus position into a seiza. "Doubtless this time she is doing it in a fit of pique. If she persists, you may -"

The spike of Rukia's reiatsu cut off the rest of his intended sentence, and even through several walls he could hear her swearing as she fell into the pond.

* * *

Giggling madly, Yachiru fled the Kuchiki grounds, two of Byakushi's big fishies in a bamboo bucket. She knew Icy-chan would love to have a fishtank in his office, they were supposed to be really relaxing!


	3. THe Default Appearance of Genius

Been sitting on my hard drive for umpteen months now. Figured it was time to air it out so that you guys can be reassured that I'm not dead. Probably not remotely close to canon, but it's my headcanon for the Duty and Honor series, to help explain Renji and Hitsugaya's friendship.

* * *

THE DEFAULT APPEARANCE OF GENIUS

* * *

He didn't look like much.

Then again, what did Renji know? Maybe all good prodigies looked like cranky, underfed, silver-haired kids. Certainly the default appearance of genius wasn't something that the Academy had covered in the past five years.

Plopping his tray down on the table, he ignored the wide-eyed look that the kid gave him and settled himself on the bench opposite. "Yo."

The casual greeting didn't seem to shake the kid out of his stupor, and Renji met the - turquoise? teal? aqua? What color would you call those eyes, anyway? - gaze, reading the disbelief in it, not quite masking the faint hint of alarm. "Hitsugaya Toushirou, right?"

"I - yes," the kid answered, finally blinking but still looking bewildered. "What are you doing?"

This was the genius that had the entire Academy in an uproar? Picking up his chopsticks, Renji very pointedly dug into his rice. "Eating. What does it look like I'm doin'?"

"I can see that you're eating," came the sharp reply, and, ah, there was that temper that Momo had talked so much about. "What I meant was, why are you eating _here_?"

Shrugging, Renji poked at his chicken, wondering how edible it was today. Ordinarily, he would have joined Kira and Momo for lunch, but his extra sessions with the Kidou master had left him scrambling to the second lunch sitting, while the others had eaten during the first and long since left for their study period. "Empty seats. Got a headache an' didn' wan' t' sit at a crowded table."

When the kid just stared at him - looking a little less incredulous and a little more annoyed - Renji realized a tad belatedly that he had never given Hitsugaya his name. "By th' way, I'm -"

"Abarai Renji. I know who you are."

Brr, chilly! Maybe those rumors about him having ice reiatsu were right.

...come to think of it, the air around this table was a few degrees cooler than everywhere else in the overcrowded cafeteria. Although, given that it was only the late end of summer, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing - it was still hot enough outside that you could work up a sweat doing not-much, so the cool was nice.

"You're the top student in the Kendo class."

His mouth stuffed too full to properly reply, it was Renji's turn to blink wordlessly at his lunch companion, at least until his mind caught up enough to prompt him to nod. "Yeah," he answered, once he'd chewed and swallowed. "How'd you know?"

One silver-white brow lifted into an ironic arch, and Renji grimaced slightly. "Sorry. Stupid question." A handspan or more taller than most of his classmates and sporting his distinctive crimson mane, Renji was easily as recognizable as the waist-high winter prince sitting across from him.

"Yes," Hitsugaya answered, "it was."

Shrugging, Renji turned back to his meal - the chicken actually _was_ edible today, which was a plus - and continued to eat in silence. Hitsugaya watched him warily for a moment or two longer, hiding the look under scruffy silver bangs that made him look far younger than he probably was.

Listening to Momo's tales of her childhood friend, Renji had been expecting a viciously reclusive midget with a temper sharper than a Zanpakutou. The good-natured, grumbling affection that Hinamori had for her friend was touching, but it had taken Renji about thirty seconds past sitting down to realize that Momo only saw what the little ice-genius wanted her to see.

There was a lot of _shy_ buried under the _irritable_, and a hell of a lot of _lonely_ under the rest of it. He could recognize it easy enough; same thing he saw in his own eyes every morning. They were the ones that other people looked at with fear and anger in their eyes; the ones that weren't normal.

Renji overcame it by making himself the center of attention at every turn, being the best at everything he could, fighting for admiration and friendship, just so that something like affection would banish the hate from other people's eyes.

Hitsugaya just turned his back, pretending he couldn't see the ugliness in people's gazes, pretended it didn't matter and he didn't care. Put that ice of his reiatsu up in a shield around his heart, trying not to get hurt.

Bolting down the last of his meal, Renji shoved his dishes together with a clatter that made the younger man jump, his eyes wide and alarmed, and Renji bit down on the edge of his tongue.

"Hey," he said roughly, half-reaching out for the boy but quickly withdrawing his hand when the other flinched. Just what had people done to this boy, to make him so wary of others? "Relax, I ain't gonna bite. Promise," he added, when those blue-green eyes stared up at him, jaded and mistrustful. "Just... if ya ever need somethin', y' come talk t' me, a'right?"

The wide-eyed, fearful innocence vanished in a flash, shuttered behind annoyance and defensiveness. "I can take care of myself, Abarai."

"So can I," the redhead shot back. "Doesn' mean I don' talk t' my friends when I want to."

There was a moment of stunned silence before that sharp voice, softer now than he could have imagined, echoed the word. "...friends?"

"Sure thing," Renji answered casually, swinging his feet back over the bench and grabbing his tray. "See ya 'round, Toushirou."

And he would continue to see him occasionally - it was Renji's sixth and final year at the Academy, but Hitsugaya was a genius, after all, and their classes would occasionally intersect.

Toushirou was the only one who ever bested Renji in the sword ring. And even at the end of the year, Renji was still the only one who ever sat with him at lunch.


End file.
